


Not the same, better.

by Jessi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Episode: s09e01 I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessi/pseuds/Jessi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that they were fully in the bunker, door closed behind them, Dean finally really looked at Cas. Cas watched as Dean looked him up and down, and saw sadness spark in Dean’s eyes, just for a moment. It was enough to twist up Castiel’s insides, and without even meaning to he starting apologizing, “I’m sorry, Dean, for everything, for all the times I didn’t trust you, for all the mistakes I’ve made, for believing Metatron, and I’m sorry about the coat, so so sorry about the coat, I know how much it meant to you, and how you kept it for me, and I didn’t want to leave it, but I was so hungry, and so thirsty, and I’m just so sorry...” and then Cas was crying, really truly crying for the first time, and it was awful, and he couldn’t speak, could only make weak sobbing hiccups of gasping sound, and his nose became clogged, and he hated it.</p><p>Then strong arms were wrapped around him, squeezing him so tight it almost hurt, and Dean’s voice was gruff in his ear, “It’s ok, buddy. It’s alright. I forgive you, shhh, shhh, it’s ok, everything is alright, it’s just a coat-”</p><p>And Cas mumbled into Dean’s neck, between wet sobs, “Not just a coat.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the same, better.

Human for less than 24 hours, and Castiel was already convinced that his new life would be tedious, and so very, very slow. As an angel all it took was a thought and he could be anywhere, accomplish anything. Now though, travel took so long, even to go a short distance. He was beginning to understand Dean’s obsession with his car, because walking was awful. Now, on top of having to make his way to the bunker with no money for bus fare, or a car to call his own, he was also wounded, and covered in blood.

The pain was unpleasant, so much sharper than the way he had experienced pain before, but it was manageable. The blood though, the blood was terrible. The sight of it filled him with guilt and remorse, a new reminder of just how many of his brothers and sisters had died at his hands, or suffered for his bad decisions. It made his clothing stick to his skin, pulling and hardening as it dried, sticky and viscous. Worst of all though was the smell, pungent and metallic, it made his nose burn, and turned his stomach, and so rather than continue his journey, he was facing down the daunting task of doing laundry.

As he loaded the washer he felt a hollow tug in his stomach, followed by a burn and a twist. He thought of the kind man who had driven him to town, thought of the same man giving him the money that he was about to place into the coin slot on the machine, “ _For the phone. And a sandwich if they have one_.” Cas had told him he didn’t eat, but apparently that was no longer true, because Cas was hungry, like that time with Famine, but worse, because this wasn’t some magic inflicted on him, this was need.

Another person’s words popped into his head, “ _We need you, I need you._ ” and it meant so much more, now that Cas understood need, understood hunger, understood want. Castiel’s stomach churned, pulling him from his thoughts and focusing him entirely on the chasm begging to be filled. 

He eyed the money in his hand, fidgeted and rolled the coins between his fingers, feeling the rough ridges of the edges and the smooth stamped images on the face, he looked to the vending machine, gazed longingly, there was pie, Dean loved pie, Cas bet pie was amazing, after all, Dean was correct to love his ‘baby’. He looked back to the clothing in the washer, his trenchcoat staring back at him. Back to the vending machine, then to the washer, vending machine, washer. He had no idea just how many choices a person had to make in a day, it was awful.

Hunger and thirst won, need trumping want. Castiel gave one last wistful look at the pile of discarded clothing in the machine. That bits of fabric could inspire so many different emotions was disconcerting. 

There was guilt, that he had already taken everything else from Jimmy Novak, his happiness, his family, his body, his life, even his faith, and now he would be leaving the last of Jimmy in a washing machine in a laundromat in Colorado. But there were harder to identify feelings too, ones wrapped up in his own history, and in Dean. All feelings relating to Dean were by their very nature confusing. Dean who called him family, but never looked at Sam or Bobby with that same look in his eyes, Dean the self proclaimed ladies man who had been celibate since before Purgatory, whose pupils dilated, whose body temperature spiked, who flushed straight down into his shirt collar the last time Castiel had cleaned his trenchcoat, held his hands out at his sides and asked “ _Better?_ ”. Dean who had rescued that same trenchcoat from the reservoir, who carried it for almost a year, from car to car, because he refused to believe Cas was dead. And when Cas was alone in the asylum, only Meg for company, thoughts disjointed, confused, crazy, and afraid, the trenchcoat had been there, like a security blanket to a human child. The coat had survived Cas dying thrice, survived a year in Purgatory, and now it was lost to something so _human_ , so insignificant as money, or rather the lack thereof.

Castiel felt wetness in his eyes, and wiped it away. He couldn’t stand there for all the rest of his human life mourning a coat, he had to move on, eat, get to the bunker, to **Dean**.

In his head, he said goodbye to the coat, and felt ridiculous. 

A short while later, as he hunched over the side of the road in his stolen clothes, vomiting up the water he had drank, he wondered if maybe he had made the wrong decision, again. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later Castiel finally found himself at the bunker. He was dirty, he smelled terrible, and he was hungry and thirsty, again. He knocked at the door.

It opened slowly, and as Dean peered around the side to see who was there Cas saw him lower his gun. Cas felt his heart speed up, though he was sure it wasn’t out of fear.

“Cas! I mean, uh, you’re here, come in.” Dean seemed nervous.

Cas walked inside, and Dean kept talking, “Sorry about the gun, when you’ve got the King of Hell chained up in your dungeon, you can’t be too cautious.”

“No, I suppose not,” Cas agreed, “How is Sam?”

“He’s ok, getting better. He’s sleeping right now, needs a lot of rest, to heal and all that.”

Now that they were fully in the bunker, door closed behind them, Dean finally really looked at Cas. Cas watched as Dean looked him up and down, and saw sadness spark in Dean’s eyes, just for a moment. It was enough to twist up Castiel’s insides, and without even meaning to he starting apologizing, “I’m sorry, Dean, for everything, for all the times I didn’t trust you, for all the mistakes I’ve made, for believing Metatron, and I’m sorry about the coat, so so sorry about the coat, I know how much it meant to you, and how you kept it for me, and I didn’t want to leave it, but I was so hungry, and so thirsty, and I’m just so sorry...” and then Cas was crying, really truly crying for the first time, and it was awful, and he couldn’t speak, could only make weak sobbing hiccups of gasping sound, and his nose became clogged, and he hated it.

Then strong arms were wrapped around him, squeezing him so tight it almost hurt, and Dean’s voice was gruff in his ear, “It’s ok, buddy. It’s alright. I forgive you, shhh, shhh, it’s ok, everything is alright, it’s just a coat-”

And Cas mumbled into Dean’s neck, between wet sobs, “Not just a coat.”

“I know, buddy, I know.”

Dean whispered reassurances and held Cas until the crying passed, then slowly pulled away. The feeling of loss when Dean’s arms let go was staggering.

Dean reached out and clasped Cas’ shoulder, “Why don’t you go have a shower while I make some lunch? I’m sure you're hungry, and to be honest, you smell.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been smelling myself for days, it’s not pleasant.”

Dean laughed, and showed Cas to the shower room. He lent Cas some clean clothes, and gave him a soft fluffy towel. Then he left, and Cas was alone with his thoughts.

Sam was awake for lunch, and Kevin even pulled away from his research to join them. After, Dean announced he was taking Cas out.

“He needs clothes, and a razor, toothbrush, shit like that. It won’t take long.” The last part, mostly meant to reassure Sam, who responded with a glare and a muttered, “I’m fine.”

They drove a few towns over to a Goodwill, and Dean sent Cas off to pick out clothes while he dug through bins of old cassette tapes. 

“Get some clothes, dark colors are better, they clean up easier. When you’re done we'll stop at Walmart and get everything else.”

Cas discovered that he liked the way worn t-shirts felt against his skin, flannel shirts as well. He once again marveled at Dean’s good taste. He did discover that he preferred corduroy and cotton work pants to denim, because they felt softer. Once he had a decent sized pile in the cart, he headed to the front, and met up with Dean who was already clutching a shopping bag under his arm.

Cas gave him a questioning look, and Dean blushed, “It’s a surprise.”

Dean paid for the purchases with a stolen credit card, then they loaded everything into the trunk of the Impala, except for Dean’s mystery bag.

Dean cleared his throat, and shuffled in place before thrusting the bag into Cas’ arms.  "S’for you.”

Cas opened the bag slowly, and gazed reverently at tan canvas, he pulled the material loose from the bag and shook it open. It was a trenchcoat.

“I know it’s not the same, but I just figured...” Dean trailed off.

Cas looked Dean in the eyes, “It’s wonderful. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean waved his hand dismissively, “It’s nothin’.”

Cas shed his stolen hoodie, and sat it on the roof of the Impala, careful not to let the zipper touch the paint. Then he shrugged into the new coat.

He grinned at Dean, and held out his arms in a mirror of an earlier time, “Better?”

Dean stared at him, then fisted his hands in the lapels of Cas’ coat, and tugged.

As Cas found himself tight up against Dean’s body he again felt his heart speed up, and he couldn’t stop looking, back and forth from Dean’s eyes to his mouth. Dean followed the movement with his eyes, and licked his lips, then leaned in and softly kissed Cas. Cas’ eyes closed involuntarily, and stars exploded behind his eyes. Dean nipped Cas’ lower lip as he pulled back barely a centimeter, breath still mingling together hot and damp. 

“There’s my angel.” Dean whispered against Cas’ lips.

**Author's Note:**

> These fics are written for fans and brokenhearted queers with _needs_ so no you may not teach them in your class. I didn't go to college and neither will my fics. We're keepin' it real.
> 
> Not gonna lie, the way Cas looked at his trenchcoat before he left it made me literally tear up, and my brain had to create this headcanon to soothe my battered heart.
> 
> Less pleasant headcanon is the part where Cas vomits up the water. Listen, that body hadn't eaten or drank for the most part in years, and Cas drank that water hella fast. That's not gonna stay down.


End file.
